"Fare thee well," I hummed softly. "Fare thee well, fare thee well my fairy fay, for I'm goin' to Lou'siana for to see my Susyanna-"

Ol' Gray tossed his head a mite in protest just then and I smiled, gently patting his neck. It was a small blow to my self-esteem, the gelding not liking my singing, but I couldn't hold him to account for it. Out here he was all the company I had.

"Easy ol' boy," yawning a little, I looked about, disliking the vast, flat country northeast of the Brazos. I'd gotten careless over the long empty miles and had need to be wary, for I'd been traveling alone a few days now. Sitting up high to scan what terrain I could see, nothing stood out as worrisome so I relaxed a mite. It was a far cry to Springfield yet, long days lying betwixt me and home, and me in no particular rush now.

Sage, tumbleweeds, and miles of dirt sparred for the best in show out here, some spaces decorated with wildflowers, splashes of green from freshwater springs. Here and there were clusters of cottonwood, oak, and ash standing in stark contrast to the dry, arid country. Once I'd left the Brazos behind, it'd been some days since seeing something other than pronghorn or coyotes.

Stifling another yawn, tired of the heat, dust and sweat, I sighed, rubbing the heel of my hand across my eyes. Scratching my neck a little, I pointed the gelding's nose toward what looked to be a likely spot for water some distance off.

"A few more miles," coaxing the large horse, I reached out to rub his ears. "We'll make camp yonder for the night, an' be at the Red sometime tomorrow."

Starting the gelding again, I resumed humming gently under my breath.

"I went to a river, couldn't get across, Polly Wolly Doodle all the day, I jumped on a 'gator, thought it was a hoss, Polly Wolly Doodle all the day-"

Of a sudden something struck me fierce along the back of the head, my weight thrown harshly forward. I'da dropped from the horse had I not slammed into Gray's neck with a sharp grunt. Dizzy, feeling sick to my stomach, I tried to push upright thinking I'd been beaned with a rock but something else punched into my back. It was white hot pain this time and dropped me hard into the dirt with a low groan. I managed to blink once, then twice, but before anything really sunk in I was gone.

Aching pain brought my eyes open again, and I blinked, somewhat confused. Hot earth pressed against my cheek, soft clouds of it floating up my nose with each breath. Blinking again, feeling like gravel had taken the place of my eyes, I tried to swallow. With a tongue thick and heavy from dehydration, the inside of my mouth felt papery. Pushing to my knees made my head swim and I almost hit the ground face-first, stomach heaving. I'd eaten a slim breakfast before dawn, so there was little to lose, but the hard spasms didn't do me no favors.

Lifting a hand to my head, I felt along the part of my skull that throbbed something fierce, feeling the sticky, thick crust of drying blood. Had that been the first shot, or the second, I wondered. I couldn't recall it, but gingerly felt along my ribs and back, feeling the second hole still bleeding. Not being able to reach the open wound, I could well enough feel it, and grit my jaw against the sharp ache. My clothing was stiff from dried blood, somewhat stuck to my skin. Casting a quick look about, I noted my rifle was gone. That bothered me some, more than the bullet holes. Out here alone, hurt, I sorely needed that carbine.

"Of all the rotten, egg-headed things..." it rattled from my lips as I tried hard to rise, staggering unsteadily. Wobbly, blinking fast, I made a few steps before collapsing back to the rock, teeth clenched against the cold sickness in my belly. It would be mighty easy to just lay there, eyes closed, and forget.

"Pa didn't raise no quitter." I muttered doggedly. "Get to your feet."

A second attempt got me from the ground, and half-bent, my boots shuffled unsteadily across the dusty rock toward the sparse shade of trees. Stumbling to my knees in the shadow of a scrubby-looking Ash I closed my eyes, breathing deep. My thoughts came in slow, unfocused as I tried to recall. I'd been on my way home from Texas- well, I figured I was still in Texas, just a long way from where I'd started? That sounded right. Kinfolk of mine got into a hanging mess-I recalled that- and I'd come to be there for burying should it be needed. Turned out to be a mistake, and my cousin...Tobias-? had come partway home with me.

Not that I'd been keen on his help. Relations are fine, mind you, but when you've got them that will chase a cougar up a tree just for fun, watch out. That's Boston blood for you, so when Tobias cut his trail from mine, I'd not been too sorry. Now however, I found myself wishing I'd put up a little resistance when he set up to leave me. It surely would ease my mind not to be alone just now.

Looking around, feeling slightly better, I noted the lay of the sun in the sky. Twilight was almost upon the land, and once it got dark, it would get cold. I needed fire, and water. Putting a hand high up my side, feeling the slow trickle of blood slip over my fingers, I grimaced. A little doctoring wouldn't hurt none either. Somehow I felt better that my blood was red, not yellow.

On my hands and knees, crawling slowly, I got together some kindling for fire, thankful for the callouses on my hands as I had to use the primitive way of lighting it. A small blaze was crackling when I climbed to my feet, shuffling toward where I figured to find water. Fluttering birds, soft chirping insects, and the faint buzz of bees led me to the trickling stream. Almost falling to my knees, I slowly scooped some into my mouth, just a little, then dabbed a handful across my cracked scalp. The sting of it was fierce, but the cool touch mighty refreshing.

After taking another swallow, I gingerly peeled from my shirt, trying to gauge my wound, but I couldn't see it, being in my back. Cupping water into my hand, I did my best to wash it off by trickling it down my shoulder, feeling it run over the opening. Twisting my arm behind me, swallowing back a cry of pain, my fingers skimmed up my spine, and just managed to feel the hole. Well, that was something at least.

Digging fingers into the cool mud of the creek bottom, I pasted it over the torn skin where the bullet had entered, worried that there was only one hole in me. That meant the slug was still inside and would need to come out, but not right this minute. For now, just stopping the bleeding and getting some rest would be enough. With the muscles in my legs watery, I barely managed to make it back to what was left of my fire. Stoking it up a little, I laid down, pillowing my head on my arms, feeling like I could drift off and never wake again. I closed my eyes.

Sleeping was a mistake. Sure it was, for when my eyes opened again, the muscles in my body were so stiff I could hardly move. The enflamed skin around my wounds had swollen, throbbing and feverish. It was so dark out the stars looked like lanterns, the air cold enough to start me shivering which made the pain worse. Head heavy and achingly dry, crawling on hands and knees, I forced myself back to the small trickle of water, sucking it through my lips, laying almost face down on the ground. Dawn was just beginning to edge faint grey over the far mountains, so I knew I'd done slept through most the night.

Able to think clearly now despite the pain, panic began to set in, driving hot tears to my eyes. I'd never had to go at it alone before, not in a fix such as this, and was sorely missing my kinfolk right about now- even them bad-tempered Bostons' woulda been a welcome sight. Yet, no one was coming for me, I'd not be missed for days, and death could come in far less time. Swallowing hard, I tried not to cry.

"Come on," I muttered to myself. "Don't make a liar outta Pa. He always told everybody you was tough. So be tough."

Digging deep, managing to get up, I took unsteady paces back to the slightly warm embers of the fire. Adding bits of dried bark pine, I blew gently to coax it back to life. Lady Luck musta been watching over me, cuz that little fire crackled right happily as it lapped on larger twigs and branches. In general terms, I wasn't one to believe in luck. A body either made their own or did without, but at that moment I was sorely wanting comfort.

Once certain the little fire wouldn't burn out, I did some scouting around, bitterly missing my war bag. It had been tied about Gray's neck, holding everything I owned- all of it gone now. Now I was in need of wild medicines, as well as a curved section of bark to hold water in, and flint. To my relief, I found what I needed not far off. Horsetail and some coneflowers set my mind at ease, and I plucked a few whole plants of each, then cast about looking for a good-sized flint to work over. Not having my hunting knife, I had to make do with fashioning my own. The bark came from a dried tree trunk, the piece looked likely to have been pulled off by a scratching bear, or a big antlered buck.

At the stream again, I washed off the plants, filled the spooned bark and went back to the fire, steeling myself for what I had to do. By now I was some tired, hungry, and starting to shake, my head buzzing. If I was gonna get to it, I'd better not waste time. With the sun shining down on my shoulders, I set at the chunk of flint with a rock, smacking it gently to shear off flakes as I shaped the stone into something usable. Bit by bit I got a workable blade formed, taking a little extra time to sharpen the edge, making it as fine and smooth as I could.

With the water heating, I started feeling around for the bulge that indicated where the lead piece might be. It was a relief to feel it under the skin, seemingly wedged between two ribs. It was a sort of mixed blessing to have the bullet in front, so I could clearly see what I had to do. Taking in deep breaths, I grit my teeth and putting the flint blade against my skin, squeezed my eyes closed. A fast, clean cut was all I needed, and before I chickened out I'd done it, biting my tongue to stop from whimpering. Hot tears leaked from beneath my lashes. Fingers shaking so bad I could hardly move them, I fished out the mangled shell and dropped it at my side.

With no clean cloth to use, I dipped my hand into the warm water, washing off the wound as best as I could before making a paste from mud, and reapplying it. Next, I took care to wash off my scalp, fingering the gash gingerly. A skull shot, painful, but it'd not done much harm other than a persistent, wicked headache. The worrisome part was how close it had come to ending me. My stomach turned at the thought of it...dead. I was near to dead.

Using the rest of the water to rinse my face and hands, I dumped it out, going back to the small brook for more. Heating it, I brewed tea from the horsetail and coneflower leaves. It was a gamble to mix plants, but I was anxious to settle my fever some, and find relief from pain. Once I'd swallowed a bit, my belly wasn't crying quite so loud, so adding a few small branches to my fire, I laid down and dozed off.

It finally occurred to me when I woke up that I ought to be mad. I'd been going home, minding my own business, been ambushed, got shot, had my horse and rifle stolen, then left for dead. Who would do such a thing? Why? The more I thought about it the madder I got. It was just about the meanest, low down, cowardly thing I'd heard tell of, shooting a person in the back. It made me grumble some as I moved about.

Fetching more water to warm for tea, I let the thought stew about some, staring sourly off into the distance. Going home like a whipped pup, that's what I'd be doing. Here Pa had lent me ol' Gray, let me take a rifle, and some no-good cur had taken it upon himself to steal from me. My heart began to pound so hard it made my wounds ache, but I didn't care much. My back was up now, fire burning in my blood at the insult.

No one stole from the Rivers clan without paying a heavy toll for it, and I'd be hanged before being the first one. Determination, fueled with resolve, fed strength to my weakened body. With nothing to pack with me, I finished off the tea, tucked the makeshift knife behind my belt and stood, nearly falling flat. Smothering dirt over the small flames, I carefully went back to where I'd woken, scouting around. My skills didn't measure up to any of my brother's, but I could follow sign well enough if not too much care was put into hiding it.

Ol' Gray's prints were clear in the dust, from where he'd shied at the gunfire and my fall from his back. Dried blood pooled from where I'd lain, that faithful old horse staying close to hand until whoever it was had ridden up. Large, deep impressions in the dust told me the new horse was big, the rider likely good-sized too. He'd caught my gelding and somehow had taken up my rifle without stepping from the saddle, for it had lain at my side on the ground. The double set of tracks led off the north, my eyes following. It was Indian Territory that way, and no one in their right mind would head into it alone unless they planned on staying low and moving fast. Getting madder by the minute, my face crunched into a tight scowl.

"Mister, you got me madder'n a wet hen," I grunted softly, setting my jaw, "There ain't no place you can hide from me."